


Jingle Bells

by a_windsor



Series: Exile [14]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-10-02 21:45:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17271683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_windsor/pseuds/a_windsor
Summary: Set two years after Christmas in Paradise.The Lance-al Ghuls are trying to have a quiet Christmas away, but all does not go to plan.





	Jingle Bells

 

***

“ _Jingle bells, Batman smells, Robin laid an eggggggg.”_

Sara snorts. Nyssa gives her a warning look.

“Who taught her that?”

“Must have been the twins,” Sara laughs.

“You haven’t mentioned-“ Nyssa says fretfully.

“No! No, of course not. I think that’s just a version kids sing these days,” Sara says as Soraya continues to flounce around their rented Swiss chalet crooning about Damian’s biological father stinking.

They’ve opted for a quiet Christmas this year, just the five (six) of them and a skeleton crew of bodyguards, in a small ski resort high in the Alps.

It’s been three days of the slopes and hot cocoa. Damian and Sara have been snowboarding, Azra and Nyssa skiing, and despite an initial love of the snowboard, Soraya figured out skis are faster and hasn’t looked back. (She’s not even all that good at remembering to look side to side…)

The chance to get away from either of their homes, just their small family, has actually been really, really nice. They’ll skype everyone on Christmas in two days, and it’ll all be perfect.

Tonight, in fact, Damian is being tasked with watching his two sisters while she and Nyssa head to dinner at the beautiful lodge further down the mountain, just the two of them. Sara can’t really ask for much more.

Of course, the fifteen-year-old in question did not exactly volunteer for this job. But it’s his all the same.

And speak of the _diablitos_ now, Damian comes into the chalet’s kitchen with Soraya slung over one shoulder, snow pants on, saying, “If I take you outside for half an hour, will you _stop singing that song_?”

“Sure!” Soraya says brightly.

“Wonderful!” Damian matches her excitement, though his is feigned.

Sara holds in her laugh as he marches her towards the collection of snow gear.

“She will just choose a new one,” Nyssa says wryly as they go. “Though I suppose even that would be a welcome reprieve.”

 

***

“We’ll be back around midnight, but you should all plan to be in bed around the normal time. If anything happens, Talibah and Sar’ab will be around.”

“And you will listen to Faris as if this were a mission to which the Demon has assigned you,” Nyssa says seriously “As if he were me.”

Soraya starts to groan, but Azra elbows her.

“We understand,” Azra says.

Soraya nods dutifully, Santa hat shifting back and forth with the effort.

“You got this?” Sara asks Damian.

“I got this,” the teenager promises.

***

Damian has a strict rule about not letting his sisters win at anything.

They never really give him a chance to enforce it, though: they are always kicking his ass at everything from card games to sparring anyway.

Tonight, it is Uno, and Azra is wiping the floor with both of them. Handily. With barely contained glee.

And Soraya is not a very good loser.

There’s a lot of pouting at every Draw Two and more Habibti words than any seven-year-old has any right to know. And then Damian hits her with a Draw Four wild.

“Did you hear that?” Soraya asks, and Damian groans.

“’Raya, you can’t just-“

Azra stops him with a hand on his arm.

“Look at her.”

Damian looks up and sees the utter stillness of his youngest sister. It makes the hairs on his arms stand up. She would only be still for one reason. He grabs the small sheathed knife from his belt, just in case.

“If anything were wrong, Sar’ab and Talibah would take care of it. We’re safe here.”

“Unless they’ve already taken out Sar’ab and Talibah,” Azra says matter-of-factly.

Soraya remains deadly still, ear cocked towards the sloped chalet roof, brow knit in concentration. Her senses have always been keener than either his or Azra’s, no matter how much further they are in their training, and her reflexes are without parallel.

This time Damian reaches for the ear piece on the coffee table. He should have been wearing it, he knows, especially with their moms down the mountain, but he’d thought they were safe here.

He inserts it and hits it once.

“Sar’ab? Talibah?”

There is nothing but static in response. Static is bad.

Azra reads their status in his face.

“You two go up into the loft. I’ll go check-“

“We’ll stay together,” Azra countermands him calmly. “And Soraya hears something _on the roof_. The loft is not necessarily our safest choice.”

“It’s a person, I think. Just one,” Soraya says. Honestly, the scariest part of all of this is the change in Soraya’s demeanor. What is it Aunt Sin calls her? Murder kitten?

“Al Ameerah,” Damian says seriously. “You may kill only if your life is immediately threatened.”

Soraya cuts her eyes at him. “Our lives are-“

“If someone has found us, the Demon will want to know _how_ ,” Azra says. “For that, we need the culprit alive to question. The Demon will then weigh whether they deserve death. You know we cannot take a life unless sanctioned by Ra’s al Ghul.”

Soraya nods, and Damian releases a breath. He really didn’t want to have to explain to their moms how he let the seven-year-old go on a murder spree.

“It may be nothing,” Azra says amiably. “Perhaps it is Sar’ab or Talibah, checking something on the roof. Perhaps the mountains are interfering with the comms?”

“How likely is that, Azzy?”

The nine-year-old’s face says it all.

“We’ll go together and check their positions. If they’re there, fine. If not, we call moms.”

“I need a bo,” Soraya insists.

Damian sighs, but there is one sitting right on the hearth. He nods towards it, and Soraya greedily grabs it.

“What other weapons do we have?” Azra asks.

“My bow is by the front door, and we can check moms‘ room for knives.”

“They have so many knives,” Soraya nods eagerly, spinning the bo in her tiny hand.

“Okay, but quickly.”

***

 

Both guard posts are the same- minor signs of struggle in the snow, a smattering of blood but nothing lethal.  Still, if Damian has to perform the last rites of the League for either of these two assassins who raised him, the Demon better give him permission to kill.

From the outside, there is no sign of anything on the roof, but he trusts Soraya.

Back inside, he grabs the sat phone and dials Khala.

No answer. It doesn’t even ring.

Despite Damian’s best efforts, Azra takes control:

“This is a siege situation. The comms don’t work. The phones don’t work. And we have a bo, four knives-“

“Moms really did pack light,” Damian interjects.

“And one bow between us. We need better defenses than that,” Azra finishes. “We do not know how many there may be.”

“One,” Soraya insists.

“One who took out Talibah and Sar’ab,” Damian points out. Soraya nods.

“There’s only one solution,” Soraya says solemnly. It’s only now that Damian processes that she is still wearing her Santa hat.

“What’s that?” Damian asks, already running scenarios in his head.

“We’re gonna hafta Home Alone it.”

***

Sara loves a good old-fashioned American Christmas, or a Mediterranean villa full of extended family members, but it is actually really, really nice to get away, just them. Even better to be sneaking off for the evening with Nyssa.

The lodge’s restaurant is cozy and romantic, all fire- and candlelight and warm mulled wine. With Damian old enough to supervise his sisters, it’s nice to get a little worry-free time to themselves.

She glances across the table. Soft light catches in Nyssa’s dark hair, which brushes against the shoulders of the tight red sweater she is wearing, and Sara can’t help her dopey smile. She _loves_ this woman.

”What?” Nyssa asks as she sips her wine, even though she knows very well _what_.

Instead of answering, Sara says:

“How’s your butt?”

Nyssa’s eye roll is practically automatic, and it makes Sara smile wider.

“It is _fine_. Will you ever let that go?”

“It’s been less than twenty-four hours – I’m _not_ done laughing about you falling off the ski lift.”

“It was not my most graceful moment,” Nyssa admits. “But in my defense. I was more worried about Soraya.”

“Really. Soraya. The one who successfully hangs upside down from the highest point in Nanda Parbat. One handed.”

“I was worried when she did that as well,” Nyssa tsks, but her eyes are twinkling.

“Yeah. It’s amazing I haven’t gone completely grey yet. She’s ridiculous. But she’s not the reason you fell on your ass. Face it: cold weather sports are not your thing.”

“Mm. And yet here we are, skiing for Christmas.”

“I know. I’m very spoiled,” Sara admits, faux-seriously. “If your ass is still sore, I can see what I can do…”

“So self-sacrificing,” Nyssa teases. “Eat your dessert so we can get back to the chalet before Soraya has them all tied up for her tenth viewing of _Elf_.”

“Oh god, if I have to watch the syrup spaghetti scene one more time…”

“Luckily she has learned her lesson regarding eating it in reality.”

***

“Sarookh. Stay here and be _very_ quiet,” Soraya says softly, sternly, even wagging her finger dramatically.

“I don’t think that’s gonna work, Soraya,” Damian frowns and whispers.

“I don’t want her to hurt herself on the booby traps,” Soraya frets.

Azra’s assure grey eyes look around the kitchen, and then she nods in approval. She grabs the tablecloth and hands it to Damian.

“What do you want me to do with that?”

“Make a sling. For Rocket. She will be safe, and you’ll still have your hands free.”

“Me? No. I need to be able to protect you two.”

“I can protect myself,” Soraya objects.

Damian is about to argue when Azra intervenes:

“Fine. Tie her on me, Damian.”

Once Rocket is, rather grumpily, sorted, Damian motions his sisters behind him, and they wait.

The trap in the loft gets triggered first. There is a dull thud as the ski boot they’d rigged collides with something hard. Armor, probably. The second one seems to be batted aside. Damian adjusts the grip on his bow. He won’t kill unless necessary, but if this intruder has a gun, Damian has to take them down. Hopefully the armor is just a helmet, or Damian will have to get closer than he’d like. He knows how, though. It wouldn’t be his first gunfight.

At his right elbow, Soraya stands ready, no matter how much he tries to get in front of her. She has her bo in hand, a length of rope coiled around her shoulder. He’s not quite sure what she means to do with that. She doesn’t look scared. That makes one of them.

Azra stays behind him, but he knows she’s ready, too.

The intruder hits the top of the stairs, and nothing happens. He cut the trip wire… Another heavy-booted step, though, and the latter of the fireplace logs fall from above and takes their feet out from under them. Azra always has a back up plan.

There is a loud thump as the intruder hits the floor, and, as planned, knocks the lighter fluid into the fire, which flares right on cue. Damian thinks he hears a deep-voiced curse. The intruder keeps coming, though, and Damian takes a few deep breaths acknowledging the fear and setting it aside. He will die to protect his sisters if he must, but he’d rather they all make it out, though. And he has to make sure Soraya doesn’t do something stupid.

The intruder makes it to the kitchen door. Opening it causes the fireplace pokers to slam into the masked face, stunning him. Damian takes half a second to note with disappointment that it is full body armor and with confusion that the helmet has horns. Or ears?

He shakes that off and fires an arrow straight into the armored chest. It doesn’t penetrate all the way, but his target staggers, winded. Azra throws a knife that imbeds in the armored wrist, redirecting the assailant’s hand, which had been reaching for a utility belt.

Before Damian can draw his bow again, though, Soraya has swept the caped intruder’s knee with her bo and launched herself off the kitchen counter to wrap her legs around his neck. She yanks off the mask/helmet and just as he falls, Azra knocks him in the head with a skillet. He passes out cold. Soraya jumps back and grabs the rope.

So _that’s_ what she meant to do with that.

“Well done, ‘ _ukhti_ ,” Azra praises.

“You, too,” Soraya nods, already looking for class to undo the armor.

Damian removes the belt first, then helps his sisters strip this strange man, praying that he has something on under all of that. Thankfully, he has some sort of long john type skivvies on, saving the girls (and Damian himself) from a scarring experience. Soraya has zip-tied the man’s hands – where did she get a zip tie?

With him neutralized for a moment, Damian takes a moment to study, the intruder’s face. Asian descent – Chinese special forces? Yakuza? Or any number really… HIVE? He picks up the masked helmet Soraya yanked from his head. It’s familiar, but no group he knows – it dawns on him, just as Azra says it:

“That’s Batman.”

Weird. Well, at least that means Talibah and Sar’ab are unlikely to be dead… But Khala and Aunt Felicity brokered a truce between the Justice League and the League of Assassins. What’s one of their top operatives doing here?

Soraya sniffs the air.

“I hope we didn’t catch the Christmas tree on fire.”

***

They’d tried to call home before they left, but there’d been no answer. Not terribly rare here in the Alps, but Nyssa had driven the snowmobile a bit faster than was necessary, just in case. It’s probably nothing.

Except Sar’ab isn’t at his front door post, and there is blood on the snow. Nyssa’s veins fill with ice, and Sara has two batons in her hands before she can say anything.

All of a sudden, though, the front door leaps open and a breathless Soraya, Santa hat askew and Rocket in her arms, bursts out.

“We’re okay!” she gasps. “We captured Batman!”

***

He comes to slowly, hearing before seeing.

“I still think we shoulda killed him,” a child says in Arabic.

“That’s enough,” another says sharply.

Bruce’s eyes open. He must have hit his head hard, because he hallucinates above him a small face, up high, peering down.

He blinks.

Not a hallucination.

The face is that of one of the girls his son guarded, perched up in the rafters with an appraising glare. The one who… tackled him.

“He’s awake,” the girl announces matter-of-factly, dropping down.

Bruce moves to stand up, but he finds himself bound firmly, stripped of his suit.

“Don’t fight.” Bruce turns his head. The older girl speaks. “Our mothers say we aren’t to kill you yet. But Sar’ab does have orders to do so, should you become a threat.”

It all comes back to him.

_His son._

“Leave us,” a voice calls from the doorway. The two girls and a nearby assassin head up the cellar stairs, leaving him alone with Nyssa al Ghul and her Beloved.

Talia’s younger sister had always made Bruce nervous. So, he looks at Taer al Asfer instead. _Sara Lance_ , he had learned in this search. The Black Canary’s _sister_.

Did Laurel know about the child? Did she know the child is his? Bruce doesn’t know who to trust anymore. Everyone claimed Overwatch knew, even knew where to find, but Felicity had refused to answer any questions – not when he threatened, not when he begged. He’d had to track the child, whose name was the only thing he knew about him, all on his own, drawing on old League habits. Bribes and threats hadn’t worked. Anyone who had the slightest bit of information would die rather than betray the Demon – or his Heir.

Bruce can certainly understand the latter. Her stare burns into him.

But Taer al Asfer isn’t any happier.

“We have a deal with the Justice League,” Nyssa is saying in Arabic, knowing he still knows it. “You have seriously endangered that peace. Threatening the Demon’s family courts war. What do you have to say?”

“He’s my son,” Bruce croaks.

Taer al Asfer flinches.

But all Bruce truly sees is Damian, blue eyes locked in concentration, ready to kill to protect those girls (although in the end, small as they are, the girls handled themselves just fine). He is almost grown. Bruce has missed so much. Has his boy already killed? Has the League completely infected his soul? Why did Talia keep him from him?

He knows why. But he is still so angry.

“Keep your voice down,” Nyssa says icily. “Or I shall be forced to take your tongue. How did you find us?”

Bruce will not answer that. No one knowingly spoke, but he’d followed some, gleaned information. Even such minor slips will be met with death from the Demon.

“You will be taken to Nanda Parbat, and it will be stripped from you. Then the Demon will determine whether you live or die.”

Her voice tells him which she prefers. He drops his head. It was worth it, to see his son, even once.

There are soft murmurs from the stairwell, retreating footsteps, and when he looks up, only Taer al Asfer is in the cellar with him. She was never known as a particularly cruel torturer, but two decades of League service, at the left hand of the Demon, may have changed that.

Instead, though, she pulls a chair relatively close, sitting backwards in it.

“On Christmas, Bruce?” she says, pained. She looks at her watch. “It’s Christmas Eve. You ruined my kids’ Christmas.”

It’s so normal, so casual. _Her kids_. Not the Demon’s grandchildren, a collection of Heir’s heirs. Her kids.

“I had to see him. I could not invade Nanda Parbat. I needed-“

“To ruin my son’s Christmas,” Sara says plainly. “That’s right. _My son_. What Talia did to you is shitty, but you know it is for the best. And Nyssa and I raised him. _We_ taught him to walk. He cried for us in the night. And _we_ have helped him grow into a man.”

“A murderer,” Bruce counters.

Sara’s eyes flash with anger but she speaks evenly:

“You know that was inevitable. Ra’s al Ghul would never let his legacy grow up any other way. We gave him his best shot. If Talia told you, you’d never have given up. This was the best scenario.” She pauses, making sure he is looking her in the eye. “I think you’ve done a lot of good, Bruce. I don’t want to kill you. But if it protects _my son_ , I will do it in a second. With or without the Demon’s blessing. You should have done this differently.”

She stand up and pulls the chair away with a scrape.

“And I’m not going to forgive you for Christmas.”

***

He’s been alone for hours. He must have dozed off. He starts awake at the sound of soft footsteps on the stairs. There in front of him are the two girls that Damian was guarding. The two girls who took him down. He hopes no one ever tells Clark. Or Barry!

“Are you supposed to be down here?” he asks.

“No,” the taller one admits.

“Do you know this song?” the smaller one asks, taking a deep breath. “ _Jingle bells, Batman smells, Robin laid an egg._ It’s very true.”

He’s just been insulted by a child.

“ _Batmobile has lost a wheel_ ,” she continues. “Did you bring the Batmobile? Can I see it?”

“It’s the jet,” the taller one corrects.

“ _Oh cool!”_

The tall one sighs and levels her grey gaze at him.

“Make a deal.”

“Excuse me?”

“You have a vested interest in keeping D safe.”

“How old are you?”

She seems way too old for her small body. She ignores his question.

“D has an interest in knowing you. Make a deal.” She turns to her sister. “We should go.”

***

“So… Batman is my biological father,” Damian says flatly.

Sara is trying to work out what he’s feeling from the tone of his voice, the set of his shoulders. But he is revealing nothing, shoulders straight, voice even.

“Yes,” Nyssa says plainly.

She too is finding solace in a rational, flat demeanor. Sara kind of wants to shake them both.

Nyssa continues: “Your mother and Bruce Wayne, which is his true name-“

“ _Wait_ ,” Damian throws up a hand. “ _Bruce Wayne is Batman?!_ ”

Nyssa merely raises an eyebrow at him and continues on:

“Talia and Bruce had an ongoing relationship when Bruce was with the League-“

“ _Batman served the Demon?!”_

“Faris,” Nyssa says sharply.

“Why don’t you save the questions until after Khala has finished a sentence, okay?” Sara says more gently.

Damian nods.

“Bruce was released from the League a very long time ago. However, his relationship with your mother continued, on occasion… up until this day, as far as I know.”

“He was her Beloved?” Damian asks innocently.

“No,” Nyssa says firmly. “Their connection has never been that constant. They are simply… two people who cannot escape each other’s orbit. But they have never brought out the best in each other.”

“Have you always known that Batma- that Bruce, was my biological father?”

Sara winces but Nyssa says confidently:

“Yes. I suspected. I have made references to Talia, and she has not corrected me. It is not discussed, even with the Demon.”

“Because he has been released by the League, and thus no longer concerns us,” Damian says, his words even taking on a bit of Nyssa’s accent as he does in League matters.

“Indeed.”

“And you did not tell me, because it is not discussed?” Damian asks, and finally a bit of confusion and hurt shows through his façade.

“I resolved not to lie to you if you pressed the issue, Damian,” Nyssa says, which is news to Sara. “But you have not had many questions about the concept of your father, even though we discuss your sisters’ first parents quite openly.”

“Did Mother tell him about me?”

“No,” Sara speaks. “He figured it out on his own. We don’t know how, which is why we’re taking him to Nanda Parbat this afternoon.”

“It’s Christmas Eve,” Damian objects.

“I know,” Nyssa says. “It cannot be helped.”

“Soraya’s gonna be crushed.”

Sara wants to gather him in her arms, this sweet, strong young man whose first thought, in all of this, is his sisters.

“Everything will come with us. We will find some time to celebrate tomorrow,” Nyssa promises. “Soraya will understand. This is a matter of security. The Demon has ordered it.”

“Should I go pack?” Damian asks.

“Damian,” Sara says. “You can say other things. You can be mad. You can be curious.”

“You’re my parents,” Damian says firmly, meeting her eyes. She tries very hard not to cry at the conviction in his voice. “Mother didn’t want me, and if he hadn’t broken in and threatened my sisters, I wouldn’t know this guy if I passed him on the street. I mean, okay, he’s Bruce Wayne, so _maybe_ , I would have recognized him, in context, but you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, but-“

Nyssa puts a hand on Sara’s arm.

“If you have any more questions, later,” she says to Damian, gently. “We will answer any we can.”

Damian nods.

“I’ll make sure the girls are packed.”

He heads up into the loft, and Sara looks to Nyssa.

“Shouldn’t he-“

“He needs to process,” Nyssa says. “And we will be here when he is ready to speak more deeply on the subject.”

“And if he wants to see him?” Sara asks.

“I suppose that depends on whether or not my father lets the Bat of Gotham live long enough for that to matter.”

***

Bruce comes to again in Nanda Parbat’s dungeons, face to face with Talia.

“You lied to me.” He speaks to her in English, forces her to play on his level. Chameleon that she is, she happily obliges.

“Technically speaking,” Talia counters.

“Omission is still a lie, Talia.”

Talia shrugs. “You had no reason to know.”

“I had no- !” Bruce takes a deep breath. “Let me see my son.”

“That is not my call,” Talia says, bored.

“How could you keep him from me?”

“We both know this was the best possible outcome for him. Besides, he’s practically a normal American boy,” Talia rolls her eyes. “You should see the latitude my father gives my sister and her family.”

“He is the only family I have left.”

“You have an entire mansion of adopted waifs,” Talia brushes him off.

“Talia,” he growls.

“You should let him go, Bruce,” Talia says, more seriously. “He is healthy, and happy, and strong. Second in line to be the Demon, although I doubt how long he’ll keep his hold on that. My father dotes on that youngest terror of my sister’s, and she has more mettle than our boy, I’m afraid. But somehow, out of all of this, my sister has given him something approaching a normal life.” Talia sighs. “But if you wish to make it harder for him, it is not me you should appeal to, but Taer al Asfer.”

“The little yellow bird?”

“She holds sway with both Heir and Demon, and, of them, she will be most sympathetic to your cause.”

“She would be more sympathetic if I had not ruined Christmas.”

“Well, I cannot speak to that.” Talia clasps her hands and her eyes light with mischief. “Now tell me, is it true that you were brought down by Al Ameerah herself?”

Bruce groans.

“I think the taller one hit me with something.”

“Al Thill,” Talia grins. “So… do you want me to send the Canary in or not?”

***

Damian is unsurprised when Talia finds him in his quarters.

“Mother,” Damian nods cordially. He slips the pendant he always wears under his tunic.

            Talia rakes her eyes over him, weighing and measuring. Finding something about him lacking.

“You needn’t hide it. I knew I’d lost you to the cult of the Canary the moment your dear Khala volunteered to take you. It’s fine, Damian. I gave you life and then I released all claim to you.”

“And his claim?” Damian asks.

“What claim?” Talia dismisses.

“He cares enough to know me that he courts war with the League of Assassins. The Demon may yet end his life for it.”

“Men chase baseless claims across the world every day. Especially rich American ones.”

“So, he is not my father?”

“He contributed half of your DNA, yes,” Talia allows.

“And you feel nothing for him?”

His mother’s usually flippant demeanor slips, just for a bare second, before she presses on, breezily:

“He’s a good enough time.”

Damian shakes his head. “He has asked to see me. Do you think I should?”

“Do whatever you like, Damian,” Talia says, and Damian’s never heard so much annoyance in her voice. He’s gotten under her skin, or this situation has.

“Faris, Taer al Asfer would like to see you,” Talibah announces from the doorway.

“Go,” Talia shoos him. “ _Iradat al Ghul_ summons you.”

***

“Mom?” Damian asks from the doorway.

“Hey, buddy,” Sara smiles tightly.

There’s a discarded green stocking on the chair in the corner of his mothers’ quarters, the only evidence that today is actually _Christmas_. That’s so hard to remember here and now, when they all have their Nanda Parbat masks on. He rarely sees his mom’s dress yellows these days. She wears them as naturally as she wears her Paradise Island sweats or their fuzzy Christmas sweaters, but it does, just slightly, alter the way she carries herself.

“Have they killed him?”

 “No,” Sara says quickly, grabbing his wrist and squeezing it warmly. “No, Damian. Bruce wants to make a deal. To give up any leaks in our security and then keep his own mouth shut… in return for a chance to get to know you. I said that if it was something you wanted, I would… intercede with the Demon on his behalf.”

“And you’re okay with this?”

“I think you’re pretty amazing: I understand wanting to get to know you,” Sara shrugs with a soft smile.

“And Khala?”

Sara’s smile turns wry. “Less excited at the prospect, but… I brought her around.” Of course, she did. “She agrees that if you want to get a chance to get to know Bruce Wayne, under whatever terms you’re comfy with, we’ll make it happen.”

“Jeddy would be okay with this?”

“I mean, Azra talked me into it, and I’m pretty sure she can talk him into it, too.”

Damian nods knowingly.

“Okay.” Damian nods again. “Okay. But not here. Not now. This is Christmas, and he doesn’t get to intrude on that anymore.”

“Oh! Okay…”

“He doesn’t get to hurt my family and then still get everything he wants,” Damian says firmly.

“Whatever you want,” Sara reassures him, but she does seem a little off balance.

“I’ll go to him. In three months. Will you take me?”

“Of course, kiddo.”

“Mo-om,” Damian groans, and she scruffs his hair, which he also outwardly hates and secretly loves.

“I don’t care how tall you are.” Taller than her. “You’re always gonna be my kiddo.”

“Fine,” Damian groans. “Go give the Batman his stay of execution. Then meet me in my quarters in two hours, okay? Bring the girls, including Sarookh.”

“Okay…”

“Just trust me,” Damian says, already planning. He needs Khala, a lot of twinkly lights, and an ax…

 

***

 

Sara can’t believe it is still Christmas. It’s been a hell of a whirlwind, and she’s alternated between pity and murderous rage for that stupid bat, and she is really, really tired. But Damian, who has obviously had the hardest time in all of this, had requested that she bring Soraya and Azra to his quarters right now, and Damian pretty much gets what he wants right now. Rocket follows along amiably, though she’d had to practically be wrestled out of Ra’s al Ghul’s arms.

Soraya has finally stopped singing Christmas carols, but Sara finds, under the circumstances, she’s actually pretty sad about that. The girl in question, with significantly less pep in her step than usual, pushes first into Damian’s room and gasps.

Sara’s brief moment of panic is quickly replaced by overwhelming love for her son. He’s turned his room into a veritable Santa’s workshop. There are red and green lights everywhere, a an honest to god fir tree in the corner, and every single present they’d schlepped to and from Switzerland piled under it. In the middle of the room are Damian and Nyssa, looking more alike than ever, in no small part due to the fact that the two of them are wearing matching plaid pajamas.

“Christmas!” Soraya squeals, throwing herself into her brother’s arms. He laughs and points the new arrivals in the direction of their own pajamas. A sister under each arm, he whistles for Rocket.

The girls strip down to their skivvies and pull on their PJs as Damian helps Rocket into hers. 

“If you are going to similarly strip, habibti, I’d ask that we step into another room,” Nyssa grins at her.

“I can’t believe you two,” Sara shakes her head, reaching up to kiss her.

“It was all him,” Nyssa deflects. “I was just a second set of hands.”

“Well, you do have experience with Christmas lights in Nanda Parbat.”

“Yes, true.”

“He’s pretty great.”

“He is.”

“The last two days sucked.”

“They did.”

Sara sighs and rests her head on Nyssa’s shoulder, watching the kids start organizing the presents into appropriate piles.

“So… what’d you get me?”

 

***

Fin

 

**Author's Note:**

> This got more serious and less holiday-y than intended, but it's a story that was always coming!


End file.
